I've Been Masturbating A Lot Since I Moved Into This Lighthouse

I'm not sure if there's something in the salty ocean air or if it's simply my new home's striking resemblance to a penis, but ever since I moved into this lighthouse, I've been doing a lot of masturbating.

It's kind of inexplicable. Sure, the waves crashing against the rocky cliffs remind me of the thunderous sex life we had before you got pregnant. But I don't think that's it. It's something bigger. Something I can't put my finger on. Only my hands.

Maybe it's the 360-degree view, but living in a lighthouse really lets you see inside your soul. And so far, just about all I've been seeing is a copious amount of me-on-me action.

What's most surprising about this increase in masturbation is the fact that I don't even get the internet out here. No streaming videos. No hi-res images. No nothing. Just a man and his imagination and a decent amount of CVS brand moisturizer.

The floors are a bit rickety, which can be both worrisome and distracting. I suppose that's why I do a good portion of my masturbating outside. There's something almost spiritual about having at yourself in a secluded patch of Spruce trees. Have I wound up with a grundel full of red ants? You bet I have. But there's no use crying over spilled milk or swollen buttholes.

I learned the hard way that there's a lot of truth to that old saying about masturbating on a spiral staircase. I forget how it goes, exactly.

You should know this hasn't all been fun and games. There were dark times - times when I felt like I was sinking down a black hole of masturbation and the only light, the only way to escape, was more masturbation.

I even had to purchase gardening gloves. Not only to protect my hands from chaffing. But because I figured a hobby like gardening might help take my mind off masturbating. To my chagrin, I learned that digging little holes and filling them with tiny seeds reminded me a lot of sex - which in turn lead to even more masturbation.

Then, it finally hit me. This is who I am now: a divorced guy who lives alone in a lighthouse and masturbates upwards of two dozen times a day. And I'm fine with that. I'm happier than I've been in a long time. In fact, I think I may have finally found peace.

I'm sure you're wondering why I'm writing you a letter - why now - and why this letter is focused almost entirely on my current masturbatory habits. And I'm not sure I've got a great answer for you.

I hope you and the kids are doing great. Please tell them daddy loves them. Maybe it's too soon, but you guys are more than welcome to come visit.